~ A site for my creative writing endeavors, writing prompt responses, and experimentation.

Regrouping After Dad

Three weeks ago today I wrote “Father Died Today.” I haven’t posted on this site since then as it didn’t seem right without first writing a follow up, sort of a closure, post. But then how does one reach closure? I’m still open.

I haven’t attended many funerals. As my parents’ large contingent of siblings slowly passed away (and yet probably 8 or more remain) I was too far away to make it there for the services. Sometimes I was in other countries, although I did fly back from Brussels to attend my grandmother’s funeral. At 102, she had been the sole matriarch for many decades and I had to be there. Needless to say, I made the trip for my father.

Unlike my mother, my father wasn’t a particularly religious man so it seemed a bit incongruent to have a minister reading psalms during the service. And yet, it helped. After my older brother eulogized our father with words showing the depth of our family’s ardor, I was asked to speak a few words of my own. I told the story of us fishing together (mentioned in my previous post), and another I haven’t written about on these pages yet. We all considered him a great man. The attendees agreed.

After writing my previous post I hadn’t followed my usual routine of posting the piece to my social media platforms. Instead I simply posted a photo of my Dad from a few years ago onto my personal Facebook page. I said nothing other than to put his birth and death dates in the caption. This was to be my personal tribute. I was surprised, however, to receive over a hundred comments from friends and family. Most had never met my father but sensed his importance to me. Those who had met him said nice things. Those who knew him best expressed their love and affection. This pattern continued at the funeral service as friends and family repeatedly said he was a special man. It was nice to know that he was well loved by all.

My older brother lived a bit closer than me and was able to be there for Dad’s final labored hours. His presence helped my mother through the initial flood of excruciating grief, and he was there for her to lean on through the necessary funeral arrangements. After a long drive, I arrived the day after he passed away and spent the next 10 days with my family. After the funeral my brother had to return home; he had taken a sudden week off as President/CEO of a non-profit organization, and duty called. I stayed on to help my mother with the long list of other paperwork to be handled, and simply offer the further support of my presence. The following week was Independence Day and the traditional gathering at my grandmother’s former house (now my Aunt’s) for the parade and luncheon. It was helpful to have Mom there with dozens of friends and family.

At one point that day an uncle, Mom’s youngest brother, told me to remind my mother she could call him anytime. As he moved to walk away he suddenly stopped, turned, and said: “You can call me anytime too, you know.”

It was then I realized I hadn’t allowed my own emotions to surface during all this time. Sure, I broke down into an embarrassing blubber when I first heard the news, alone in my house hundreds of miles away, but my focus during those 10 days was on Mom. Only at that moment, when my uncle offered his emotional support for me, did it hit me that not only had my mother lost her husband of 66 years, I had lost my father of a lifetime. I managed to avoid of repeat of my earlier blubbering, but my eyes did well up and my breathing labored. [As they did just now typing this]

The next day I made the long drive back home. Since then I’ve periodically felt the loss slap me in the face. Reading a novel in which the main character visits his father with Alzheimer’s in a nursing home slapped me. Random thoughts slap me. Writing this piece has slapped me several times. Ru, who lost her own father to cancer at a much younger age, has helped me keep perspective.

To be honest, I feel a little silly expressing this, especially when many around me had lost their fathers or mothers or both long before I was faced with the situation. In a way, their experience with loss has helped me learn that while the memories and pain never quite go away, all of us gets through it and lives the lives our lost loved ones would have wanted us to continue living. Meanwhile, my mother again is my primary focus. My older brother and I, who both always called routinely anyway, have taken to calling more frequently. While I was still in my home town I helped my mother sign up for a day-long bus tour with the local Council of Aging. She will continue living. Several of her siblings are still around and all live locally. Add in both old and new friends and there is plenty of support to help get her through these initial stages without my father.

So is this closure? Probably not. But I need to refocus, regroup, renew, just as I’ve been encouraging my mother to do. It’s been difficult getting back into writing mode after all the recent travel and Dad’s passing, but I must. Today I took the first step in getting a routine going again. Tonight I’m writing this divulgence. Tomorrow I’ll set a timetable. I miss him, but I also know he would want me to continue.

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11 thoughts on “Regrouping After Dad”

My dad died seventeen-years ago. Still, just reading this brought more than a few tears to my eyes. I don’t think the sense of loss ever really goes away. Just that first slap took me a year. The loss simply becomes something that one understands and moves on with intuitively. I haven’t yet allowed myself to arrive there with my mom. There’s still too much going on.

I remember that the first person who asked me if I was okay after my dad died was a real-estate broker who was helping with part of his estate. That was probably six-months on. Several years later, I wrote her a letter thanking her for the expression. I didn’t know if she even remembered me; but I wanted her to know that I remembered her. Your mom’s youngest brother sounds like a good guy.

I truly wish you and your family well. The deep sense of respect and compassion in your words speak volumes about both your father, and yourself. These expressions aren’t in the slightest “silly”. Just the opposite, in fact. They reaffirm whatever humanity we were fortunate enough to receive from those who contributed as much to our lives.

Thanks for your nice thoughts. Dad’s quality of life had been slowly ebbing away for the last couple of years so I thought I was prepared for it. Turns out I’m still not. I sometimes feel guilty for feeling this way given how many of my friends and family lost one or both parents much earlier than I have, but of course it’s still painful. And as you experience, never-ending.

I am deeply touched by these words from the bottom of your heart. Those slaps will keep coming, on special days for sure, and sometimes quite unexpected. But you will continue to live the life that your family has been so proud of. Love lasts till eternity. xoxoxo

I reckon one’s brain captures lots of features (sounds, sights, smells, emotions) in a few moments in experiences like these and records them rather more permanently than other experiences. Some seem like random details. Nonetheless, my brain recalls some of them from time to time and takes me right back there. I think as time goes on, one becomes accustomed to those memories intruding.

Sometimes I get pangs of guilt for not having done certain things better during the difficult times, but those fade as well.

It is not bittersweet; it is a process that takes a long time; yet, it will pass, although the passing may seem a thousand lifetimes, while we review each moment as it draws itself out in a 33 rpm speed that has now been slowed even more. Our emotions have matter. We forget that. It is one of the toughest things we will ever do. Mourn the loss of a parent or a child. Only after several years or longer, it might seem a salve. But a salve that cannot last long enough and that likely touches down on feather light wings just long enough to offer a promise of hope that sentient feeling may only be a mirage, and that we will wake with everybody whole, as they always were. After years have passed, we will finally be acustomed to the cold reality of death.

My deepest condolences. My father passed more than a decade ago and I can still tear up unexpectedly. I am, however, an incredible softy who tears up for cat videos.

Everyone has their own methods to deal with grief, their own steps they need to take. I’m glad you and your mother are both deciding to live rather than let his passing suck the life from your lives. At the end of the day, we stand, at least in part, as testimony of our parents’ legacies. In that way, a part of him lives on.

I try to be detached at things like this but my history demonstrates how unsuccessful I’ve been (I still remember my reaction when Anwar Sadat was assassinated). But as you and many others know, we survive. As far as legacy, I pulled a piece from Dan Fogelberg’s song “Leader of the Band” regarding legacy in the piece I wrote the day my father died (linked in the first line of my piece above). I know that he was proud of me in life; I hope that I can continue to leave a legacy worthy of him.